Even when facing the ice storm or even Casava Bloodhoof, Wildhammer had never felt this kind of fear, as if he was being haunted by a ghost.
Under the stimulation of extreme fear, he roared and spun his morninghammer-like long nose into a destructive storm. It swept up a large amount of rubble, broken wood, and dust in the dilapidated walls, forming an indestructible protective shell that enveloped him.
However, the bone-piercing, bone-piercing feeling still seeped into the storm like mercury spilling onto the ground.
Wildhammer felt a stabbing pain at the end of his long nose.
He felt as if his entire nose was about to be uprooted.
He hurriedly lowered his head and dodged.
With a bang, sparks flew in the smoke and dust.
The attacker's sharp blade collided with his fangs.
Judging from the attacker's silent attack style, this sharp blade that was as thin as a cicada's wing shouldn't have much strength.
However, the collision between the sharp blade and the fangs still numbed half of Wildhammer's gums.
He reached out to touch his fangs and immediately felt a crack that reached deep into the root of his teeth.
If the crack had gone half a finger deeper, his fangs would have been completely removed.
Until now, Wildhammer still hadn't caught sight of the attacker.
This made his fear soar to the limit.
He could only retreat desperately and summon his own totem armor – Locomotive Engine!
Black liquid metal seeped out from 36,000 pores on his body.
The metallic luster that seemed to be cast from black iron also gathered into hundreds of three-dimensional cuneiform characters that circled around his body. They helped the liquid metal quickly solidify and condense into layers of indestructible armor.
When the armor on his limbs was completed in an instant, there was an earthquake-like rumble. Wildhammer finally heaved a sigh of relief. He prepared to switch from defense to offense and search for the damned attacker.
At this moment, he suddenly felt a bone-chilling cold coming from the center of his spine where the totemic armor hadn't been able to completely seal off.
Immediately after, the bone-chilling coldness that was close to absolute zero turned into magma that could burn everything. It flowed along his entire spine, down to his pelvis and legs, and up to his arms and brain, completely taking over his spinal cord and motor nerves.
Wildhammer's eyes widened.
No matter how the ancestral spirit in the totemic armor poured out information like a waterfall in his field of vision.
He couldn't even get a shred of guidance from it.
Having lost connection with his brain, it was as if his limbs had disappeared from his torso. He could not use the totem armor to perform even the most basic combat skills.
Wildhammer felt like he was a dam that had collapsed.
All of his strength poured out of the hole in his spine, which was alternately cold and scorching hot.
He fell to the ground, groaning half in humiliation, half in despair.
As he climbed higher and licked the flames at the highest point of the Blood Skull Arena, he finally saw the true face of his attacker under the dust and smoke.
The other party was no taller than two arms.
Among the tall and big Blood Hoof Clan, he could only be regarded as an inconspicuous short figure.
However, the streamlined totemic armor that covered the whole body evenly and was full of speed and destructive power could make even the largest clan warriors excrete tremble from the depths of their bones.
This was a very unfamiliar totemic armor.
Apart from the highly abstract pattern of a bloody ghost at the center of the breastplate, Wildhammer didn't see the emblems or totems of the major families in Black Horn City.
The two sharp blades that extended from the elbows all the way to the back like giant scythes made this totemic armor unforgettable.
Wildhammer felt that he would never forget such a terrifying totemic armor.
That was, if he could still escape from these two scythes that reaped lives as easily as harvesting wheat.
Wildhammer's gaze moved from the edge of the scythes to the mask and helmet of the attacker.
It was different from the clan warriors, who would usually engrave profound and complicated runes on the mask to form gorgeous totems.
The attacker's visor was simple and smooth to the extreme.
Except for the hundreds of tiny holes near the eyes, which formed a circular field of vision for observing the things in the outside world, there were no other unnecessary decorations or patterns.
This minimalist design style that abandoned all decorations was completely different from the traditional aesthetic tastes of the Turan warriors.
But it added an unfathomable air of mystery to the mask, which did not show any changes in its emotions.
Above the mask, where the eyebrows and hood should have been, was also empty.
But it surged with spirit flames that had red threads embedded in it, making the attacker look like a torch that burned Wildhammer's heart fiercely.
When the attacker activated his vitality magnetic field and controlled the spirit flames, they became highly condensed. The golden-red intersecting spirit flames turned into strange-looking horns that occupied the man's head.
This image instantly caused an incredibly terrifying name to pop up in Wildhammer's mind.
"D-Night Demon!"
Wildhammer screamed out the name like a hen whose throat had been cut.
The attacker did not comment.
He just lowered his head, and admiration shone from the hundreds of needle holes on his face.
He did not admire Wildhammer.
Instead, he admired the totemic armor he wore — the locomotive.
It was said that the locomotive was an ancient divine artifact.
A long time ago, when the glory of the ancestral spirits still shone on all of Turan Lake.
The noble warriors of Tulan rode countless divine artifacts called "locomotives" and smashed the Land of Holy Light as fast as lightning like war hammers.
Unfortunately, in order to defend the vitality of the entire land, the warriors of Tulan had to devote all their resources and energy to the war against the Evil God of Twilight year after year, day after day.
And Evil God Twilight's believers, who were known as the puppets of the "Holy Light Camp", snuck into Turan Lake many times and tainted and destroyed the sacred legacy the ancestral spirits left for the Turan warriors.
As a result, ten thousand years later, just like countless powerful artifacts, the real "locomotive" had long been lost.
Even so, Wildhammer's family had fused part of the technology from the locomotive into their totemic armor.
That was how the "locomotive", the most powerful totemic armor of the Blood Hoof Clan — no, perhaps of the five major clans — was forged.
When he was fifteen, he wrestled with a bloodthirsty and violent "Bone Crusher Mammoth" during his coming-of-age ceremony. He used his bone hammers and iron fists to smash the hardest skull of the mammoth. That was how Wildhammer obtained this totemic armor.
After almost twenty years of training and fighting, Man Hammer had thought that he and the totem armor had become one, and that he would be able to unleash the greatest power of the locomotive. He thought that he was the perfect master of this totem armor that had been passed down for a thousand years.
But at this moment, facing the Night Demon's hungry gaze, Wildhammer discovered to his shock that his totemic armor was shaking!
"How is this possible?"
Dumbfounded, Wildhammer watched the cuneiform characters jump and flash crazily in his field of vision.
It was as if contradictory orders, as well as the unlocking and depriving of all kinds of privileges, were bursting out at the same time.
Originally, even if a totemic warrior was seriously injured, the totemic armor could still partially take over the master's body and use liquid metal to repair the damaged blood vessels, bones, muscle fibers, and neural networks. It would then enter automatic combat mode and help the master escape from danger.
However, when Wildhammer gave the order to the totemic armor to "help the master escape at all costs", the options formed by the cuneiform characters in his field of vision all turned gray!
It was as if his totemic armor was deeply attracted by the Night Demon's strength and was about to abandon this "sinking ship"!
That was impossible. Such a situation where the totemic armor broke on its own would only happen in a battle where there was a huge disparity in strength between the enemy and himself!
Could the gap between him and the Night Demon be so huge?
Under Wildhammer's disbelieving gaze, the Night Demon raised his right arm high.
The machete that extended from the end of his elbow turned back into liquid metal and slowly retracted into the gauntlet.
Then, it spurted out along his palm and formed five sharp lancet blades at the end of his fingers.
The five lancet blades stabbed at Wildhammer's breastplate.
Following the cracks on the breastplate, the blades pierced through easily like a butcher dissecting an ox.
Wildhammer felt that his field of vision had been injected with bloody venom.
The venom was corroding the power that the ancestor's soul had gifted to him inside the locomotive.
The instructions made of cuneiform characters turned from glittering to dim gray, and from dim gray to fragmented. In the end, they disappeared one after another.
"This is impossible. Why is this happening?"
Wildhammer sobbed from the bottom of his heart. "This is the totemic armor that the ancestor's soul left for me. The war souls attached to this totemic armor are all my ancestors who are connected to my bloodline!
"Why would the war souls of my ancestors abandon their descendants and allow this lowly rat to tarnish their glory?"
Wildhammer's faith completely collapsed.
What collapsed at the same time was his ability to perceive the outside world through the totemic armor.
Before, the totemic armor was like a second skin for the warriors of a clan. It seemed thick and heavy, but it did not affect them at all. It could even enhance the most subtle vision, the keenest hearing, and the most delicate sense of touch.
Right now, after Night Devil's fingers stabbed into Wildhammer's chest, the tremendous information that the locomotive had collected from the outside world was' intercepted 'in advance.
As a result, Wildhammer's five senses were deprived one after another, making him feel that he was lying in a cold coffin.
Eventually, Wildhammer's chest was in excruciating pain.
Night Devil dismantled the locomotive from his body piece by piece and peeled it off.
It was like his bones were being pulled out of his body one by one.
Under the bombardment of extreme pain, shame, and desperation, the largest gladiator in Black Corner City, one of the four aces of the Blood Skull Arena, and a noble warrior whose blood of glory flowed in his veins, finally collapsed.
Before he was faced with greater humiliation, he was lucky enough to fall into darkness.
Recommend a new book, "Me"!
The dominating title, the unyielding main character, and the first three golden chapters. The readers' reputation was exploding! Hooooooo!
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